


Whisper

by aurorasparrow (moonofmylife88)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AryaxGendry Week, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-28 06:37:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7628845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonofmylife88/pseuds/aurorasparrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Response to axgweek Whisper</p><p>****</p><p>It starts as a whisper across Westeros. <i>Have you heard? Yes, the Stark girl. No, the younger one. No, don’t be daft, she’s alive. Yes, her. And old King Robert’s bastard, they say. Of course he had a bastard, you dunce. He had one in every kingdom if the tales are to be believed. No, this is the oldest. Aye, a blacksmith, they say. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Whisper

It starts as a whisper across Westeros. _Have you heard? Yes, the Stark girl. No, the younger one. No, don’t be daft, she’s alive. Yes, her. And old King Robert’s bastard, they say. Of course he had a bastard, you dunce. He had one in every kingdom if the tales are to be believed. No, this is the oldest. Aye, a blacksmith, they say._

Then suddenly it’s a buzz, heard in dark corners of taverns and inns from Flea Bottom to Harrenhall to Wintertown to Dorne. _That’s right, the wolf and the stag. Or is it a bull? The very ghosts of Robert and Lyanna, roamin’ the halls of Winterfell, old Lord Eddard’s castle. Don’t you lie, Hugor, you never saw ‘em. During the War of the Five Kings, you say? Wandering the riverlands with Beric and Thoros? Do you take me for an idiot?_

Next thing you know it’s common knowledge, north and south of the wall and as far as the free cities. The true and the false. _Married? Are you certain? He’s a bastard. More like he stole her away. Oh, that’s right, she’s half wolf that one...if anyone did the stealing, it was her. Married, with King Jon’s blessing?! Legitimized?! Huh, wish the king would legitimize me. Well, they must be halfway to Storm’s End by now. Staying in Winterfell?! What’d they want there? That’s her brother’s right. Most like they’ll be hoping to inherit somehow._

Soon it’s a proclamation for all to hear, the rich and poor, old and young. _The son of late King Robert and daughter of the Hand, late Lord Eddard. What a sight to see. If only they ever left that blasted freezing North of theirs. Ned and Robert were best of friends, you know? As good as brothers. It’d tickle them pink to see their children married, I’d wager. They say the two fought side-by-side as children and, later, during the War of the Dead. Say they slew thousands of them white walkers in their wake. Side-by-side in battle just like their dead fathers, them two. Of course the girl can fight! That’s how they make ‘em in the North._

It’s deafening after that. It’s all anyone can talk about. _Bah! No one wants to hear about the bloody beautiful dragon queen no more. It’s that Stark girl we’re all wantin’ a glimpse of now. They say she’s twice as beautiful as her aunt and ten times ferocious. You hear the blacksmith is the pretty one? He’s a lord now, and try sayin’ that to his face and see if he don’t bring his war hammer down on yer head now. That’s right, just like King Robert’s hammer, and this boy’s hammer is thrice as heavy. Made of Valyrian steel, they say. Forged it ‘imself. And the lady carries Dark Sister. Who do you bloody think gave it to her? The new Targaryen king, ‘er brother. Well, yes, cousin, ‘tis true. But she calls ‘im brother all the same._

But pictures speak louder than words, after all, and Westeros is soon graced with the sight they’ve all been waiting for. _Look, there they go, on the way to see the king married, they are. Yes, those two. The tall one what looks like he could drop your house on your head, and the maid astride in front of ‘im. ‘Course that’s a girl. They don’t got to wear dresses to be girls. She’s more beautiful than they say even. And look at them eyes. Those are Lord Eddard’s eyes or I’m the queen. She’s’ a deadly one, she is. Just look at that wolf aside ‘em. That’s a direwolf, that is. Near as big as that stallion. They say the girl and the wolf are one, you know. Wargs, that’s what them Starks are, and thank the gods or spring might never o’ come._

Time passes, as it’s wont to do, and the talk dies down eventually, settling finally into whispers once more. _Settled in Winterfell for good, they say. Them Starks stick close make no doubt about it. The smith’s as good a Stark by now. A little one you say? Ohhh, well they would name him Ned, wouldn’t they? Takes after the smith though, I’d wager? All of Robert’s actual welps did, didn’t they? There’s two you say? Three in all?! A little Ned, a little Robb and a wee Cat, ey? And more’s the better. Wild little things they’ll be. Strong as their father and fierce as their mother. Couldn’t ask for a better match._

* * *

 

Back in the castle everyone dreams of having a peek into, it’s all whispers in the bedroom and shouting in the forge. Neither of the two notice the whispering about them nor the shouting nor the pointing and staring. They’re too intent on whispering, shouting or staring at each other.

 _Marry me_ , Gendry whispers to her one crisp cool night in the godswood, just as winter is melting into spring. He has been watching her bathe in the hot springs beneath the weirwood trees. She has sidled up to him in the pool, and he has tears in his eyes because he’s sure he’s never seen anything or anyone half so beautiful as the woman who saved the world, who saved him.

 _Yes_ , Arya whispers too in the eyes of the old gods, the ones her father kept, the ones she keeps now, now that her god of death has finally given them all a long reprieve. The wind whispers too, softly through the branches and red leaves of the pale white trees. And he knows he’s done right by her after all, despite his doubts. Their kiss is a whisper, the soft brushing of lips against lips. And it’s a promise, one he intends to keep for as long as he draws breath.

Many moons later, he’s sliding her gray and white cloak off her shoulders and replacing it with the black and gold stag of the house of his father, the one he never met. Somehow, it seems wrong. He was never a stag; he’s a bull, through and through. More than her becoming a stag, it’s him becoming the wolf.

So he does the only thing he can think of to rectify his uneasiness. He pins the black and gold cloak over her shoulders, then holds the gray and white one out to her. And he doesn’t have to wonder if she’ll understand because it’s Arya, and she is as much a part of him now as he is of himself. He turns around so his back is to her and crouches down so he is at a height at which she can pin the cloak over his shoulders. He hears the whispers this time, of those gathered as witness. But he doesn’t care. Never did. Not when it came to doing whatever it took to make her happy.

When he turns back, she doesn’t wait for the official ceremony to end before she’s leaping into his arms and kissing him the same way she did after the last battle of the frozen war. The moment they’d reunited at the crest of a hill overlooking the bloodshed and gore. They’d been separated halfway through the battle, and neither had known if the other was still alive. Until that moment. The kiss was a battle in itself, a clashing of lips and teeth and tongue. A plea for confirmation of life. This kiss is much the same.

 _I take this man_ , Arya whispers after, once he’s released her from his grip. She’s faltered on the last word and by the tilt of her precious lips, he knows she’s almost said bull instead of man.

 _I take this woman_ , Gendry whispers back, and he’s struggled too. It would have been easier to say wolf instead of woman, and he knows Arya has noticed because she’s grinning madly up at him now. And Gendry wonders how he ever could have had doubts that this was always the right path.

It’s almost a year later when Arya finds him in the forge. He senses her before he sees her, but he doesn’t want to mess up all the hard work he’s put into the day, so as difficult as it is not to turn to look at his _wife_ (wife – he relishes the word every time he thinks and says it), he finishes his task first.

She resists at first too, watching him only, but she always did have less willpower than him. Soon she is wrapping her arms around his middle and, hard work be damned, he drops the sword and takes her into his arms. There is a glow about her, something new, something different.

She is kissing his neck, his earlobe. He feels her lips against his ear next. At the same time, she’s taken his left hand from her waist and is moving it to her stomach.

 _Baby_ , Arya whispers, and it’s the first time in a long time he can remember his wife sounding so scared and so exhilarated all at the same time. Goosebumps rise up and down along Gendry’s arms, and he gives an involuntary shudder. He doesn’t know what he’s feeling, but the grin that steals automatically across his face, wide and unapologetic, is the best indication that this is the best news he’s ever gotten after the news years ago that Arya was alive and well in Braavos.

He’s clutching her to him now like she’s his only chance at life, which she, of course, is. And she’s clutching him too. This will be unlike any other battle they’ve ever faced, but like all the rest, they’ll face it together.

He’s kissing her face now. All over. From her forehead to her chin to her lovely cheekbones to her nose to her lips. It is more than he deserves, he knows, more than any man deserves. This woman who managed to give him life, who is now giving life to someone they’ve made together.

 _Ned or Cat_ , Gendry whispers. And he knows he’s said exactly the right thing because she’s the one kissing him now as she never has before. And he thinks hard on what his life would have been if he’d never met the little orphan boy Arry on the kingsroad with his quick fists and castle-forged sword. What a wretch he would have turned out to be. He kisses her with renewed fervor. He means to make himself as worthy of her and the life she gives him as possible but knows it will still never be enough.

Their child has his hair and eyes. That’s a certainty. But the way the boy wraps his tiny little fist tightly around Gendry’s finger is a perfect indication that the boy’s personality is all Arya, all wolf. It isn’t the easiest thing for Gendry to cry, but this is one of the times he can’t help it. The little family, newly up three from two, is laying in the large bed in Arya and Gendry’s chambers. The maester has already returned to his own. Sansa and Bran are gone too; it seems babies that aren’t yours aren’t as fascinating past the first few hours.

Arya’s fingers are lost in Gendry’s shaggy hair, and she’s crying too. They’re both just staring at the babe, everything it does a new wonder to the two of them. The boy blinks and they’re in awe. The boy yawns and they’ve never seen anything as mesmerizing. When the boy looks right back at them, they’re beaming and tearful all at the same time. In contrast, the baby seems as disinterested in them, as they’re engrossed with him. Until it’s feeding time anyway.

Finally he sleeps peacefully between them, and they’re still both staring. Once in a while, they meet each other’s gaze, and the one seems as shocked as the other that they made this. This beautiful shaggy black-haired boy with eyes the color of the sky just around dusk in the winter. The boy is quiet, not so fussy as some. And there’s something stern and noble about his brow already, and Gendry knows.

 _Ned_ , Arya whispers in confirmation minutes later.

 _Ned_ , Gendry whispers back with a satisfied nod.

They go through it twice more, but the beauty of it never ceases. Each time is as fascinating as the last, as they get to know their little ones.

 _Robb_ , they whisper to each other the next time. And, like the king for whom he is named, the boy seems as kind and austere and commanding.

 _Cat_ , they whisper next. And she’s got his hair and eyes like the first too, but even though an infant, Gendry can see she’ll take after the beauty and strength of her mother.

The little family of five lays in the same large bed, Ned now three, Robb two and Cat a newborn still. The babes are asleep, but Gendry and Arya are playing their game of staring into each other’s eyes and daring to see how much each can get across to the other that they love each other using only their eyes. But Gendry feels he always loses because his eyes aren’t half as expressive as her beautiful and stormy gray ones.

 _I love you_ , Gendry whispers, cheating. And she can’t help but smile. Because he always ends the game too soon.

 _I love you_ , Arya whispers breathily back. And he feels her breath on his cheek, and he’s fallen under her warm little spell again, and he’s reaching his neck carefully over a sleeping Cat to kiss his wife full on the mouth. Then he sits back and proudly eyes his perfect little family, all wolves and stags and bulls.


End file.
